


(don't know, don't care) all i know is you can take me there

by mansgotalimit



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Exhibitionism, In Public, M/M, Sort of? - Freeform, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit
Summary: Noel is hard.He’s also on stage in front of thousands of people, fingers fumbling with the strings of his guitar, muscle memory his only guide as he focuses on trying to keep his voice from trembling as he sings, on trying not to moan into the microphone.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	(don't know, don't care) all i know is you can take me there

**Author's Note:**

> i have literally no idea what possessed me this evening i sat down 45 minutes ago and thought might write a little thing about an idea that's been bouncing around my head all day and here we are 2k later 
> 
> this is the first smut (ish?) that i've written since uhh...2013...lol...so be gentle! 
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](https://starsshapedtambourine.tumblr.com)!

Noel is hard. 

He’s also on stage in front of thousands of people, fingers fumbling with the strings of his guitar, muscle memory his only guide as he focuses on trying to keep his voice from trembling as he sings, on trying not to moan into the microphone. 

He’s also trying to avoid Liam, which is proving almost impossible. Liam’s got free rein of the stage, not tied to an instrument plugged into the amps towering behind them like Noel is, and he likes to abuse that power to sidle up behind Noel, grab his arse and squeeze, slide his hands over Noel’s chest and pinch at a nipple, try and snake a hand between Noel’s guitar and his jeans. It's been a full fucking show of it, at least an hour of Liam pressing himself flush against Noel, sweaty and hot, breath warm against Noel's neck, and it's been driving Noel fucking crazy.

If Liam finds out, Noel’s fucking done for. If Liam detects the flush high on Noel’s cheekbones and manages to distinguish it from the heat of the stage lights and Noel’s far-too-thick jumper, Noel’s fucking finished. Liam’s never been able to resist any opportunity to fuck with Noel, never quite understood that the fact he’s fucking his brother isn’t something to be broadcast to the world because he’s never had any fucking _decency_. 

(Although Noel’s not sure he’s really one to be throwing stones when he’s standing up on stage in front of at least fifty thousand people, cock straining against his jeans, hard because of his little brother.) 

Liam’s focused on singing, shaking his fucking tambourine, and Noel’s trying his best to harmonise and not think about the way Liam’s hand is wrapped around the plastic handle of the instrument and the way Liam’s hand had been wrapped around Noel’s cock last night. He’s managing alright so far, only cutting off a few beats early because his breathing’s too laboured to sustain too long a note, but he hasn’t aroused any suspicion. Liam’s not done anything more than shoot him a quick glance before turning back to the crowd, dialling up his nasal drawl for Supersonic because he knows it sends them fucking wild. 

Noel decides that watching Liam is too dangerous, seeing his lips stretched around the microphone, pink and full and spit-slicked and God, _God_ what Noel would give for Liam to be on his knees instead of standing six feet away, cool and controlled. He looks down at his guitar instead, blinks three times like it’ll clear out the images of Liam with his head tipped back, lashes casting dark shadows on his cheekbones, lips parted in a moan, and watches his fingers as they move across the fretboard of their own accord. Two more songs, he tells himself. Two more songs, and then he can march offstage and drag Liam into the nearest toilet. He can make it. 

He probably could have, had he not caught Liam’s eye at that point. It’s quick, the briefest of glances, one that they send each other every few minutes onstage just to anchor themselves in each other, but Liam does a double-take, and Noel’s heart flips. He’s seen, Noel knows he’s seen, seen the way Noel’s lips are slightly parted and his cheeks are a little redder than usual and his eyes are hooded and dark, because Liam’s own lips part a little, and then curve up in a smirk. 

He turns away from Noel again, because Morning Glory has started, but he’s shifted so Noel’s got a better view of him. He’s taken a small step to the right, angled his body so that Noel can see his cheeks hollowing and his lashes fluttering, and Noel wants nothing more than to bash Liam’s head in with his guitar, or maybe deck him; anything to get him to his knees. 

Fuck it, Noel thinks. If Liam’s going to be a cunt about it, so is Noel. 

He looks steadfastly over at Liam, waiting for Liam to turn back - he will, of course he will, he’s fucking narcissistic and desperate for Noel’s approval - and, when Liam’s eyes flit to him again, bright and wide, Noel holds his gaze, and grinds forward against his guitar. 

The pressure on his cock feels so fucking good, amplified by the heat of Liam’s gaze, and Noel has to try his best not to let his head fall back in pleasure as he grinds forward again, pushing his guitar back with his elbow to get as much friction as he can against himself. It’s nothing like what Noel needs, nothing like the hot, tight heat of his brother’s arse or mouth or hand, but it’s the best he can get, and it’s driving Liam fucking crazy. 

Liam’s lips are parted, and he’s missed his cue for the _need a little time to wake up,_ but the crowd are singing so loudly anyway that Liam just takes a step back from the microphone and watches Noel for a moment. It sends something electric coursing through Noel’s veins, and he’s never exactly been an exhibitionist but it feels like fucking coke mixed with ecstasy mixed with Liam to be standing here, in front of tens of thousands of people, hard and rubbing against his guitar because of his little brother. It feels fucking _insane,_ having thousands of eyes on him while he makes himself come because of Liam. _For_ Liam. 

Liam tries to collect himself with a swallow, wanders back to the microphone to pick back up again, but his voice cracks and he can’t stop fucking staring. It makes Noel giddy, makes what blood had managed to cling on in his head rush down to his cock because this is what Liam’s always wanted, and it must be driving him fucking wild. He’s always wanted to tell the entire world that he’s Noel’s, that at least once a year on a Tuesday if it’s a full moon and City have won their latest match then Noel might even be his too. 

(Noel’s Liam’s on days that end in a Y, but he’d rather United win the league than ever tell Liam that.) 

Noel’s simultaneously glad for and furious about Liam’s too-long shirt, obscuring his view of what he knows is Liam’s cock pressing hard against the zip of his jeans. Noel hopes Liam’s uncomfortable as he grinds against his guitar again, the pressure cold and angled and not Liam but still so fucking good. He hopes Liam’s fucking dripping, desperate to touch himself, ready to cut the rest of the set and meet Noel in that grimy little toilet they’d walked past earlier. 

Noel almost misses his cue to come in for his first _well,_ too busy pushing forward against his guitar and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself from making some kind of a noise for Liam. Liam’s all over the place, only hitting half the notes, breathless although he’s not moved more than three steps since the song started, and he glances back at Noel, the same dark, desperate expression in his eyes that Noel knows is in his own. It’s fitting, really, he thinks with a jolt, as he grinds forward against his guitar again and gets out a strangled _well._ They’ve got the same eyes, after all. 

Somewhere in the depths of his arousal and depravity Noel manages to be surprised that Liam makes it to the end of the song before stepping back, eyes still focused on Noel, and heads for the back of the stage. Noel follows him back, still six feet away, pressing the guitar harder against himself as he pushes his hips forward again, trying not to let his eyes flutter shut in pleasure. He’s close now, mostly from the look on Liam’s face and the knowledge that he’s doing this in front of thousands of people, grinding against his guitar and fantasising about the last time he’d fucked his little brother, the last time his little brother had had his cheeks hollowed around Noel’s cock, the last time his little brother had begged Noel to come inside him and fill him up. 

The lights aren’t as bright here, and Noel can’t quite make out just how red Liam’s cheeks are, but he can still see the glimmer in his eyes, the hunger, the _need._ It makes Noel’s fingers slip on his strings, his mistake ringing out loud and clear over the amps and the speakers, but he can’t bring himself to care when Liam blinks at him, a complaisant expression on his face that Noel knows all too well, and drops to his knees. 

It’s inelegant, ungraceful, the way that Liam drops down, landing hard on his knees and leaning back on his heels, but he knows it’s what Noel wants, what he needs, and he’s never wanted anything more than to be good for Noel. And he is, he’s so fucking good, blinking up at Noel from under dark, sweaty lashes, chest heaving from the heat and the arousal and the singing, on his knees for Noel. Noel knows, if he pushed his guitar out of the way, strode over and forced Liam’s head into his crotch, Liam would open his mouth and take it. He’d suck Noel’s cock, swirl his tongue around the head, take it all the way in, stare up at him with those big blue eyes, all in front of the tens of thousands of people singing Noel’s songs and in front of their bandmates and in front of their mates hanging around backstage. He’d do it, for Noel. 

As soon as that thought’s crossed Noel’s mind, it’s fucking over. Noel can’t help himself as he comes, trying his best not to squeeze his eyes shut in pleasure as the orgasm washes over him, because coming like this, eyes still locked with his brother on a stage in front of fifty thousand people, knowing the two of them know something no one else knows, feels like nothing Noel’s ever experienced before. He’s panting with it, vision blurring around the edges with the force with which it hits him as he comes, pulsing warm and wet into his jeans. It’s going to be fucking disgusting in a few minutes, but he can’t bring himself to care, thinks that Liam will probably lap it all up as soon as he gets his hands on Noel anyway. His legs almost give out, and he’s still fucking playing somehow, fingers shaking as they pluck out the final notes of Morning Glory, and just as Noel thinks he’s coming back down from his high Liam lifts his shirt up a little and Noel’s gaze is drawn down, cock kicking out one final spurt of come as it sees the outline of Liam’s cock straining against his jeans. That’s all because of him. Jesus. 

They stare at each other for another moment as the blood starts to circulate around Noel’s body again, and he’s trembling and sweating and looks far more vulnerable than he ever wants to look around Liam but it doesn’t fucking matter because Liam’s staring up at him like he’s an angel, like he’s the only thing that’s ever existed and the only thing that Liam will ever see. As the blood makes its way back to his brain, though, Noel realises dimly that they’ve still got a song to go, that Liam needs to get to his fucking feet because even though nobody will guess what’s just happened, Liam on his knees and staring up at Noel like he’s the answer to every question Liam’s ever had isn’t a good look. 

“Fucking get up,” Noel shouts, voice a little hoarse. Liam drops his shirt again, rocks back on his heels for a moment, and then gets up. Noel can almost read the thoughts going through his mind as they flash across his face - _fucking cunt, why does he get to come and I don’t; that’s the hottest fucking thing we’ve ever done, fucking hell, we’re doing that again; this is all I ever want._ It makes Noel’s head swim, makes his stomach flip and churn because Liam deserves better than that, deserves better than someone who can’t even admit to himself that he’s in love with him, deserves someone who doesn’t get off on splitting Liam apart atom by atom. 

“This one’s for you,” Liam says, voice echoing as it makes its way through speakers across the arena. Noel’s still trying to gather himself, still a little breathless, fingertips still tingling, but he’s cognisant enough to frown, because the final song’s supposed to be Rock ‘n’ Roll Star, and he’s pretty sure that one doesn’t warrant a dedication to him. Because it is to him, even if Liam’s looking out at the crowd. It’s always for him. 

Then Liam takes a step back and gestures something to Bonehead, who frowns but nods, and starts playing a few notes. 

Slide Away. 

Usually, Noel would be fucking furious. He curates these set lists for a reason, carefully selects the songs that make the cut and culls the ones that don’t, puts them all in a specific order, and ordinarily, he’d be fucking beside himself if Liam just fucked around with it. _Who the fuck do you think you are?_ he'd demand hotly. _Fucking think you're above the set list? I fucking wrote the songs, you cunt, all you've got to do is stand there and fucking sing them, and you can't even fucking do that?_

Today, though, still warm and soft around the edges from his orgasm, he sees it for what it is. 

_I love you._

(Noel’s fingers finding their place on the fretboard and his plectrum hitting the strings is the closest he’ll get to an _I love you too._ ) 


End file.
